


d'absourdre

by hypaalicious



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Anal Sex, Anguisette problems, Blood Kink, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Knifeplay, Porn with too much plot, Rough Sex, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 12:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16702681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypaalicious/pseuds/hypaalicious
Summary: A young adept from Valerian wanders to the Isle d'Oeste, seeking answers and refuge within the unforgiving halls of Kushiel's grace. A high priest takes it upon himself to show her exactly what she is, and why she should embrace it.





	d'absourdre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Diaboliktrashheap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaboliktrashheap/gifts).



> I wrote this sometime over a year ago now, for one of my boos. This tested the limits of my skills as a writer, and I'm so grateful that she humored me with all of this. It's deeper than anything I've written to date, and in homage to senpai Carey, I can only hope to reach the pinnacle of writing to sustain this through a novel one day.
> 
> Set in the [Terre d'Ange/FFXV AU](https://hypaalicious.tumblr.com/post/163312915889/the-adepts-of-the-night-court-dangelineffxv) I wrote awhile ago.

> “When Love cast me out, it was Cruelty who took pity on me.”

She could still feel the cold spray of the sea drying on her face as she stood on steady land, staring up at the imposingly beautiful temple ahead of her. As an adept of Valerian, Dia wasn’t unfamiliar with the order of Kushelites and their temples. Every one of them were required to step foot into Kushiel’s hallowed halls, and learn of the bronzed God of Punishment that left God’s graces in order to follow Elua’s precept so many years ago. Tendrils of black hair tickled her nose with the wind that spiraled up behind her, and she rubbed the freckling of goosebumps that had appeared on her arms before taking the steps that would take her to her destination.

It would be her first time at the main temple that sat upon the unforgiving rocks of the Isle d'Oeste, having finally found the stream of assignations abated enough for her to make the trip that carried her outside of the City of Elua’s grand walls. Dia breathed easier once the carriage had taken her into the open land, always having found the city to be rather oppressive. It may have been the only home she had ever known, but it wasn’t one that held many fond memories.

She hadn’t told the Dowayne where she was headed, nor of her probable return. Dia didn’t think it would matter, overmuch. The pleasure house of Naamah would continue to make coin with or without her presence, the wheels of fate would turn, and she would always feel just outside of all of it.

She was tired, yet not unused to her ever present tribulation. She had her ways of coping embedded in her very bones.

Dia almost didn’t realize how close she was until her hand reached out and absently felt the weathered and slightly splintered door that was in front of her, artfully sporting a stained glass window that only served to cast hallowed shadows on the interior. Pressing forward, her nose picked up on the heady scents of cedarwood and myrrh from the banks of incense hanging on the walls, interspersed with lanterns that gave just enough illumination for one to know where to go. Her footsteps echoed, giving the place a slight feel of abandonment that was false, as she knew the priests and priestesses of Kushiel were about, clad in their black robes and bronze masks that melded them into shadows with harsh faces.

She continued until she reached a circular open room, the vaulted ceiling open to sky between curls of wrought iron, lighting the sturdy sculpture of the god in which the region of Kusheth was christened. Dia didn’t know how long she stood there, staring thoughtfully at the rod and weal crossed over his broad chest, lingering her blue gaze on his wings that were said to be made of the bronze that adorned his followers. She studied the white marble in which he sat, a glaring contrast to the black floors that glistened with the reflections of lit candelabras.

“Do you know what those keys represent?”

Dia blinked in surprise at being addressed through her ever wandering thoughts, and looked over at the figure in a bronze mask standing yards away. “They are the keys to the portals of Hell, are they not? The Shahrizai carry these for their house motif,” She examined the ornately inlaid design at the base of the throne.

“Yes… yet here, they hold another meaning.” The black clad, faceless man stepped forward then, and Dia had never felt a presence much like the one in which she had found herself. He was taller than what she observed, and his deep voice rumbled as if it were coming from the effigy of Kushiel itself. “Endurance, suffering, and atonement. The three gifts the Punisher God gifted to the then budding people of Terre d’Ange.” He sounded almost wistful, and she blinked at the man in wonder before that hard wrought mask turned more towards her. “Are you here for penance, little dove?”

“I…” Dia faltered, realizing that she had not a conscious reason for arriving at Kushiel’s most hollowed place. She just felt inexplicably drawn to the macabre, the harsh and oppressive nature that encompassed the temple. “I suppose I am.”

He seemed to study her from behind his ordained wall, and her breath shallowed the more time that was passing. “Are you certain?”

_No._ “Yes.” She had read about it, yet was unable to witness it in person. Only a member of the Kusheline clergy was permitted to lay eyes upon the scourging of one who allowed themselves to lay bare before the might of the god. A gifted adept of House Valerian she may be, but she still felt ashamed at the amount of intrigue that raced through her at the concept. The harsher acts that she submitted herself to willingly in the safety of a bedroom were different, and though she never considered herself devout it seemed taboo to think of what was essentially a holy rite in such a manner. 

_Yet, the only way to find out is to partake myself._

Dia nodded resolutely, straightening her shoulders.

“… very well. Let us prepare you, then.”

Reading about an event and experiencing it was something completely different, as Dia was discovering as she allowed herself to be led through a variety of stone halls to arrive at the bathing room. Two similarly clad masked acolytes retrieved her from the doorway, and she stopped herself from turning and looking back at the one that guided her there before the door swung shut behind her.

The water was much too hot, scalding her skin and turning the alabaster shade into a blotchy red mess, and Dia hissed at the rough texture of the cloth that brutally scrubbed her afterwards. Affliction was her specialty, but she had grown to learn that not all pain was made equal. What she endured in that moment was more of a prickling annoyance than the beginnings of euphoria that she usually chased in her life, but she grit her teeth and suffered it for what was to come. Wrapped in a nondescript, tattered cloak in her transport to the next area, she shivered at each damp footstep she placed on the stone floors. Her stomach grew more frantic the closer she got to the wider, perfectly circular room with a single worn post fixated in the center. It was then that Dia stumbled but did not fall, her vision narrowing to that point and knowing that what she previously only read about was going to become a reality. _Her_ reality.

She absently wondered if the almost complete marque on her back was giving her away before she even was made to kneel.

Focusing her ultramarine gaze on the knots of hemp that were securing her to the whipping post by her wrists, Dia‘s ears picked up the rustling of robes all around her, suddenly filling the hall with a sea of black and bronze. Their shadows flickered across the floor ominously, moving like the flames that lit them from the walls behind, and she made to steady her breathing by watching the dance the patterns conjured. The cloak was fully removed then, goosebumps rising on her skin once more and exposing her naked form to the holy audience gathered. Pressing her knees closer together, Dia flexed her fingers before curling them slightly, her head bowed.

“O, mighty Kushiel,” a roiling voice began, one that automatically raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. “A mortal supplicant has graced your hallowed halls, seeking atonement for unsaid crimes that weigh her weary bones to kneel before your presence in hopes that she may find release in your mercy. May those that stand witness to this judgment amplify your presence in administering the scourging of sin.”

Dia heard something unraveling. It was now unearthly quiet in the room, and even her breathing became oddly muffled in what seemed to be an oppressive air that had rolled in. _Is this Kushiel’s presence?_

Her eyelids fluttered closed, her mind reaching out to what she couldn’t fully understand.

Then, the crack of a whip reached through the silence to sear her flesh, and what she saw in that moment washed her consciousness from present reality. A haze of red bled into her vision, and her own voice crying out at the strike seemed distant and unlike her own. Dia’s nerves trickled the sensation of the strike like water down her spine, and she hardly had time to gather herself before another touch of the whip jolted her back into that odd mental space that she craved in her assignations yet was administered with exacting efficiency in this holy rite. Her inner walls flexed, causing her body to convulse slightly, yet with every measured strike of the whip she became more detached yet involved in the pain of it all.

It made Dia feel simultaneously dirty yet alive. Appropriate for how she viewed her entire existence.

She knew not how long she knelt suffering the cruel touch of the firey whip that signified Kushiel’s hand of justice. Time ceased to matter to her at the first strike. She felt torn open despite distantly knowing that even with the pain, that no wounds were afflicted. The welts that rose in its wake would fade in days, leaving her pristine and deceptively pure for the next patron that longed to leave a lasting impression into her body.

Dia wished that there was something to mar her as thoroughly as she knew she was on the inside. But even the gods tormented her.

“Dia nó Valerian,” that rumbling voice brought her back to her trembling body and the people surrounding it, the glaze of red fading with the cessation of the whip’s touch. She didn’t remember ever introducing herself. It didn’t matter, now. Her arms shook while her essence liberally coated her inner thighs and the floor upon which she knelt, and she wondered how many times she came during the rite. “Kushiel is ready for your confession.”

It was difficult to find her voice. “I…” She swallowed, her throat as dry as the sands of the desert. “I am… impure. Unwanted. Unloved. I’ve come to crave these abominable things about myself at the expense of my humanity, and yearn not to be changed. I dream of debasement of its worst incarnation, stripping me of all but the last strings of my life only to bring me back to a darker, more pained version of myself to begin the cycle anew. My crime is one that I shall commit again and again. My prayer is through the punishment that I allow to be administered upon my flesh. My offerings arrive in the heights of carnal pleasure that may be cloaked in Namaah’s grace yet I hoard for my own selfish benefit. Should the mighty Kushiel hear my pleas, know that I would meet him at the gates of Hell in eternal penance for my wretched existence… and lewdly treasure each moment He offered.”

Her breaths were ragged in the silence that followed, and her quivering stopped. Dia hardly noticed an acolyte moving to her side, still unwilling to lift her head.

“May the waters that surround this hallowed place cleanse you, Dia. And go forth lighter of burden in Kushiel’s grace.”

The salt from the sea cut into every welt, seeped into the rawness of her scrubbed skin, and was as cold and unforgiving as the place she was in. She bit her lip, tasting the blood that welled there as an object to focus on rather than the torrent of water running rivulets down every crevasse. Yet, she felt validated here, on the floor of a temple dedicated to the god of Punishment, in ways that she was sure she could not have found within the City of Elua’s walls. It was too proper, too obsessed with decorum and silly social games to deliver the kind of attention she craved. Even behind closed doors, the most ruthless of patrons held back. _Save for Gladiolus, I’ve not had such freedom in the harsher pleasures before this moment… and even then, I was like to push him further than he anticipated._

Dia blinked from the depths of her mind to feel the cloak she entered with draped around her shoulders as her restraints were loosened to allow her arms movement. Looking around, the priests and priestesses had dispersed, leaving only the crackling fires of torches… and one other as her company.

“Forgive what would be considered a breach in protocol… but if I might have a moment?”

Dia slowly looked up at the black clad figure that had greeted her upon her arrival, made to seem even taller from her place at his feet. She was confused, but through the faint drips of water that still fell from her bangs, she nodded and made to rise from the ground. A hand reached out and grasped her arm as she did so, steadying her and suffusing her with the first bit of warmth since her pre-ceremonial bath. In what was appearing to be a habit, she allowed herself to be escorted through the temple until she entered a what appeared to be a small study. The man gestured her inside first, and her bare feet graced the ornate rug that covered most of the floor. There were rows upon rows of books, of countless places ranging from Skaldia to Alba, many in languages she could not parse, lining the walls. There was a bit of history everywhere Dia looked, and it was only when she heard the latch catch on the door that she was able to tear her eyes away from it all.

“I’ve stock of your belongings, so you needn’t worry,” he began, moving past her to reach the small yet ornate desk that sat close to the corner of the room. He reached up and pushed the heavy hood off of his head, revealing an unruly mess of auburn locks that dusted his shoulders. Still facing away from her, he removed the bronze mask that hid his identity from the world before speaking again. “I found your confession to be… _intriguing_ , Dia. It is what drives me to approach you in this manner, despite you being fresh off of the heels of a rather strenuous purging.”

She watched the mask clatter to the tabletop. “Might I know the name of the person who inexplicably has mine?”

Turning then, a strikingly amber gaze met her blue one and held it for a moment. “Of course. Ardyn Izunia. It is not one that holds any sort of importance, however. Here in this sacred place, we serve as little more than conduits for Kushiel himself. I’ve forgotten how it must be like for you, having lived what is like to be the entirety of your life within the protected walls of the Blessed City of Elua. I’m sorry to startle you.”

“I… it’s alright,” Dia stuttered, once again put off kilter by the presence of the one she now knew as Ardyn. “I am hardly a noble, fettered by duty or public appearances myself. In fact, I am no one at all.”

Ardyn raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, still managing to hold her attention. “The marque on your back tells me that you are a highly skilled adept in the Court of Night Blooming Flowers. They are stringent in their selection of budding courtesans, and to pass such qualifications in order to be blessed by the goddess Namaah in your service is something, indeed. Wha _t I_ am curious to discover, however… is whether or not you are divinely touched by another.”

She blinked, her mind whirling with more questions than she felt she could find answers for. “Pardon?”

Ardyn stepped towards her then, and Dia held her ground until he was situated directly in front of her. She knew, somewhere inside, that she should feel frightened. This man was a stranger, coming to her when she was most vulnerable, in an isolated place where no one she knew would think to look for her. Yet, the strumming of her heart was from a different feeling entirely, and his fingers on her chin that belied a strength she knew he was withholding was electrifying. She swallowed while he tilted her face up to look deeply into her eyes, shifting his own in a calculating manner between the two as if waiting for something to be known.

“Dia, tell me. What do you know of the _anguisette_?”

She opened her mouth to reply before she realized that she did not have the answer. “Regrettably nothing, my lord.”

Letting go of her chin, he retreated to the other end of the room before standing in front of a mirror that separated two bookcases in the wall. “I am not surprised, yet I can’t help but be a touch disappointed in the lack of education those in the City of Elua are allowed.” Ardyn looked over at her and gestured for her to stand with him, and her legs moved to obey him before her mind caught up to what she was doing.

“ _Mighty Kushiel of Rod and Weal, Late of the brazen portals. With blood-tipped dart, a wound unhealed, pricks the eyes of chosen mortals_.” He chanted as if he repeated the words to himself as a mantra every night. “Thus is the tale of the _anguisette_ , beginning with Mara, the famed daughter of Namaah.”

“For what purpose does Kushiel choose these individuals?”

Smiling, Ardyn responded. “To bear pain greater than what should be required for any living being to carry. Atrocities that would break any human is what an _anguisette_ is crafted to hold in infinite pleasure of the task. They are to bring balance to the world through their burden, and are among the most precious and misunderstood of us all.”

Dia felt her heart beat faster in her chest, and she clutched the edges of her cloak tighter together. “That… sounds like Valerian House is full of these mythical beings.”

He laughed then, and the timber of his voice rang through her. “No, little dove. There hasn’t been one in living memory. Yet…” Ardyn studied her from head to toe. “They may have a diamond in their midst.” He moved closer to Dia in order to situate her standing figure in front of the mirror across from her. “May I remove your cloak for a moment?”

Not sure if she could tell him no even if she wanted to, Dia let Ardyn slide the garment off of her shoulders, leaving her bare once more. She took the moment to look at herself in the reflective surface, dispassionate and removed. Despite being found passable to become a Servant of Namaah, she never considered herself a vain one. Having her skin covered in bruises and markings after assignations was the only time she allowed herself time to peruse her body. She watched Ardyn’s reflection as he retrieved something out of the drawer of his desk that glinted in the light of the study, and he moved to stand behind her naked body before moving the piece of metal he held to rest at her collarbone.

Dia’s breathing became very shallow.

“Have you ever experienced the bite of the _flechette_ , my dear?” He murmured, his breath moving a few strands of dark hair past her ear.

“No, my lord,” she almost whispered, her eyes focused on the blade while her skin absorbed the coolness of the delicate yet deceptively sharp edge. She could feel the tentative prick of the edge, not yet turned to pierce her flesh, yet beckoned for the blood that was just underneath. “They are forbidden for use in assignations. Too many were irreparably maimed and discharged from Namaah’s service as a result of overeager patrons.”

“Hmmm… and, following in true D’Angeline fashion, I can assume that no one is properly taught how to handle such a remarkable work of art.” Ardyn’s other hand was placed on her hip, and he met her stare in the full length mirror just yards away. “Always locking away things that they cannot understand… rather than embracing the fear and turning it into a priceless asset. A pity.” The _flechette_ moved slightly yet did not cut. “Are you ready to learn who you are, Dia?”

She should not. Though she has always healed quickly and cleanly, to allow someone to do this to her would be in violation of many precepts.

But she came to this place to escape those arbitrary rules. And perhaps… to find out if she had any worth besides being tied and debauched upon an ungrateful noble’s bed. This mysterious man valued bravery, the quest for even forbidden knowledge… and she did not want to let him down.

So, Dia gave a single nod of consent.

And Ardyn began his mural.

Honed sharp enough to split skin like butter, it only took the slightest of pressures to draw first blood. And much like the time she had spent at the mercy of the whip, the red haze exploded into her vision again, uninterrupted yet guided by the trail he was leaving on her skin. Dia heard it, then: the clashing of bronze wings. She knew not else of how to describe what was once sporadic and fleeting, but now was as clear as the skies above. In her mind’s eye, the effigy she studied upon entrance came to life and grew, the stern countenance of Kushiel in his full glory. She was awed, the pinpoint of the blade the only thing sharper than her arousal that was tightening her nether regions in sweet agony.

Ardyn followed a path on her body, marveling at the contrast of the blood that dripped in its wake. He went excruciatingly slow, relishing the look on Dia’s face and her dilated pupils as he dragged the edge around the outer swell of her breasts. He held her firmly by the side, knowing that she was swaying with all of the sensations pummeling her at the moment. He could smell her arousal in the air, thickened with the metallic tinge of her life essence that he didn’t hesitate to breathe in as he worked. The thick robe of the Kusheline clergy helped conceal his erection, and even as he continued the line across her stomach and went further down, he maintained enough physical distance to keep his wits about him. _I need her to realize what she is before I ravage her._

Dia wanted it to stop while also hoping that it would not, having the most prolonged point of desire thrust on her in this manner. There was blood on her hip, now, trailing slowly from being cut open near her bust. She could see in the reflection how much of it was now coating Ardyn’s fingers. The fire it was producing was causing her to salivate, and her mouth could not stop from parting no matter how she wished it closed. Dazedly, she watched the blade go past her navel before lifting and hovering over her clit.

“Dia… you must say it, now.”

She didn’t want to. She wanted it to continue. She wanted to be maimed, destroyed, and broken by the practiced savagery of the man who held her and played her like a fine instrument. From behind lidded eyes, she panted as he brought the blade closer to her nub.

“Dia.”

She was floating in Kushiel’s presence, staring in rapt wonderment of his glory while her body trembled and weakened from the blood loss. The first prick of the _flechette_ on her most sensitive area would have had her attempting to buck into it herself if Ardyn wasn’t holding her in place.

“ _Dia._ ”

“Hydrangea,” she breathed out her _signale_ , unused to saying it save for assignations where the knowledge was mandatory. The blade was removed, and she found herself abruptly pushed forward to collide with the mirror that had served as a window into parts of her soul she had never been allowed to discover.

“Tell me what you see.”

Being pressed against the glass so insistently, Dia was only able to gaze into her own lust filled eyes as her body slid along the surface that was slickened with her blood. And there, easily observed from her widened pupils, was a red mote. It was small, yet appeared to float in the abyss of her right eye, and she followed it in a daze. 

_I’ve not noticed this before. How many years has it been marring my appearance? Is this why I was abandoned on the steps of a pleasure house, never to be seen in the company of my parents again? Did the Dowayne know, yet refused to enlighten me of what it meant?_

“M-my lord…”

“Embrace what they’ll never be able to understand, little dove,” Ardyn nearly growled, and a fresh jolt of need struck her core. “You are capable of more than what their puny minds can ever fathom.”

She whimpered, and a tear pooled in the corner of her eye. “Please… _touch me_.”

Ardyn paused even as his member jumped at the utter desperation in her voice, and he knew he had played too long with his god’s chosen. Dia was everywhere around him, cloying the room and infusing herself in his body in ways that wouldn’t be cleansed with the most numerous of purging rites. He knew he had needed to stay removed the moment he had the inkling that she was a true _anguisette,_ but he hadn’t listened to that voice of reason in his quest to know.

Still keeping her against the mirror, he slipped his fingers between her legs and noted the wetness there on his calloused pads. It only took a moment longer until he eased a digit into her heat, and she was convulsing around him as if she had been waiting for his touch to release her. Dia’s cries echoed loudly, and as an afterthought Ardyn supposed he should have thought of a gag so as not to draw attention. But her moans were pretty and raw, and for once in a very long time, he yearned to join that song.

Coming down from the blissful high of what Dia supposed was the hardest orgasm she had managed to have despite her lasciviousness within the Night Court, the lingering pain of the cut that lined her body, she found herself able to turn around from the fluid-streaked surface to stare at Ardyn in a dazed reverie. As much as he attempted to hide it, the many years of training that the Night Court offered her rendered her able to see the desire roiling in his uniquely colored eyes, stained in the slightest flush on his skin, and accentuated by the breaths he took.

Normally reluctant and discouraged from being the bold one, yet drunk off of the high he gave her, Dia captured his lips before he could refuse. She moaned eagerly into it, clutching the front of his robes to both hold him to her as well as to help keep her upright. Spicy, bold, yet indeterminable was his flavor on her tongue, and she couldn’t get enough of it. The prodding of his erection on her stomach excited her, the rough fabric of his attire stinging the fresh wound there and threatening to start something more within her. She hadn’t felt this kind of want for another person in her life, and it all but consumed her. When Ardyn broke the heady kiss and created some distance, Dia was sure she let out the most embarrassing whine.

“Dia… you know not what sort of man I am, and this is not an assignation in which I laud you with gifts and coin to help you complete the brand of ownership on your spine at the behest of a carnal pilgrimage to Namaah’s glory.” 

She didn’t care about any of that. He noted this in just the look on her face, and couldn’t help but give a chuckle at the open book she was. Taking her by the wrist, he led her to a chair and bade her to sit while he moved and prepared a basin of warm water to cleanse her blood-soaked skin. Actually having to kneel before her to compensate for the height difference that was even more noticeable, Ardyn sponged her flesh clean before rummaging for a container of salve to trace over his earlier handiwork. All the while, Dia’s eyes stayed on him, not even appearing to notice how he tended to her.

It was beginning to unnerve him.

Dia blinked at the cool glass being pressed into her palm, finally looking down at the jar there. “Did you make this yourself?”

“… yes,” Ardyn answered, rising to his full stature once again. “One could say I have a talent. Considering your remarkable healing qualities, within three days you should be cleanly healed with application of the balm. I would be even further remiss to return you to the City of Elua scathed.”

She stood then, feeling the pleasurable ache on her person and opened her mouth to protest.

“Dia,” he cut her off sharply at the first intake of breath. “Kushiel granted you a reprieve, not a permanent sanctuary. Do not scorn his grace in your impetuity.” He gathered her clothes and handed them to her before walking around her to the door. “I shall be waiting to escort you safely to your boat. Endeavor to not tarry overmuch, my dear.”

Dia still stood there, feeling stung by his rejection yet swallowing it as best she could. Even that brings me an odd feeling of pleasure. _Mayhap this business about being an anguisette holds more truth than I can fathom_. Dressing slowly, her eyes traveled back to the sullied mirror, streaks of blood and her essence crafting a macabre mural of what she supposed was a staple in her life, now. Nodding mostly to herself, she made sure that her garments did not pull at the knitting wounds in her side before striding to the door.

Whether he liked it or not, she would return. And she would not be denied.

* * *

For his part, Ardyn did his best in proceeding his daily life as it was before an unexpected jewel landed in his midst that fateful day. He had told himself that he only wanted to open her mind to possibilities that those stuck up nobles would never give her… yet, he too was a selfish man. There might have been a time when he was not, but it had been bled out of him as surely as one would wring a used tourniquet. Thus, he had receded into the isolated sanctuary in which he made himself a new name and home, reborn in the fires of Kushiel’s vicious grace.

It was one he could only appreciate after many years of giving until there was nothing left, to a people who tossed him aside as if he wouldn’t have given the very marrow that lined his bones in offering.

Letting out a controlled breath through his nose, he tapped a gilded ink pen onto the parchment in front of him while looking to the mirror that sat across from him absently. He had it affixed there in order to remind himself of his own soul that he could not bear to others.

He couldn’t remember the last time he truly saw himself in it.

A knock on the door roused him from his mired thoughts, and he set down his pen before turning his head at the sound. “Enter.”

The hinges squeaked faintly with pressure as the nearly formless acolyte stepped forward and bowed their head, bronze mask glinting. “High Priest, you’ve a visitor.”

Furrowing his brows, Ardyn cautiously stood, peering into the shadowed hall behind them in curiosity as to who would know him well enough to seek him out. “Well, then. Show yourself.”

Another cloaked figure swept over the threshold then, undeniably female in her gait and the way she bent in a fluid curtsy that spoke of practiced upbringing. When she rose, familiar blue irises rimmed in kohl met his boldly. “Forgive me for arriving without a missive, my lord. But might I have a moment?”

The corner of his mouth twitched at hearing his own words offered back to him. It had been some time, but he had a long memory… and his blood sang to him the moment their eyes met, just as their first meeting. Ardyn didn’t have to tell the acolyte to leave them, as the door was shut quietly and left the two of them to appraise one another.

Crossing his arms, he tilted his head. “Consider your audience granted, Dia. What brings you to Kushiel’s doorstep once more?”

Reaching up to remove the hood from her head, Ardyn blinked once at the color that greeted him. He knew Dia’s hair to be as black as the night that surrounded the temple, but now it seemed to fade into familiar midnight at the tips from another color that wasn’t quite auburn, not exactly rouge…

_Ah… I see. Sangoire_. The color of freshly spilled blood that only _anguisettes_ were permitted to wear by D’Angeline law was suffused in her strands, framing her face and dusting her collarbone. It was then that he noticed that her lips were stained with the shade as well, and his breath caught at how well it suited her pale skin and piercing gaze even in the flickering light of the study. When her fingers moved to undo the clasp on her cloak, he swallowed in time with the fluttering fabric pooling to the floor at her feet.

The dress she wore was very simple, sleeved and collared with two splits parting at the hip for mobility in such a floor-length number. One might have been able to call it fairly conservative by a courtesan’s standards, if it weren’t for the fact that it was made of the finest and sheerest material possible without going completely bare. Diaphanous and airy, Dia’s body was covered in a veil of black that did nothing to hide her pebbling nipples or the triangle of her sex as she wasted no further time sinking int _o_ the _abeyante_ position amongst the fabric, her knees gracing the floor and her wrists laid upturned on her thighs. Her brilliant blue eyes were downcast and submissive despite the confidence and surety in her person.

“Are you offering yourself to me, little dove?”

Without looking up, she responded. “As I did once unknowingly, I do so again, my lord… only in full knowledge of what I am. Without your guidance, I would not have found it within myself to carry on so displaced in a world that would rather I die or be used… as such, I remain indebted and give to you that which I have; all of me.”

Dia silenced herself then, knowing that she was like to babble in circles yet still fall short in conveying what he meant to her. She was certain that only he could bring her to the heights in which she craved to soar once more, and she had spent the time away from the temple to complete her marque and leave Valerian’s halls with nary a glance back despite the dowayne’s protests. 

_Mayhap he realized too late what he had in his walls. It doesn’t matter, now._

All that mattered was the man named Ardyn Izunia.

He came before her then, his shoes heavy on the surface she knelt upon before crouching and caressing her face in a calloused palm. She slowly looked up to his face then, watching his unreadable expression even as his fingers traced her skin.

Then, pain from the sudden strike she didn’t see coming caused the wash of red in her vision, her body flopping over on her side as the sensation radiated from her cheek throbbed in time with her pulse. Ardyn stood, staring down at her figure with a mixture of savagery and lust roiling in his amber gaze.

“Foolish girl. You can’t conceive the sort of things I’m capable of. The depths in which I wouldn’t hesitate to drown you, hoping that you’d struggle even as you begged for more of what you could barely understand. You think yourself ready to take on the sins of a man you don’t know?”

She bit her lip as she pulled herself upright, knowing that it wasn’t a verbal response he was seeking. She knew he would soon be exacting her response from her body, and she trembled in anticipation of what she could not stop herself from dreaming about since she met him. Dia watched as he removed his black robe, revealing a basic white tunic and beige breeches beneath. His eyes bored into her as he unlaced the shirt enough to slip over his head and place on the chair of the desk. The only time they broke eye contact was when Ardyn was completely naked and turned to place his shoes among the rest of his garments…

… and Dia found herself gasping at the faded yet familiar marque that adorned his broad back.

“You were of Balm House?” The house of healing and gentle natured adepts was not one that she would have ever thought the man before her would have been trained by, let alone him having been a part of the frivolous Night Court at all. Ardyn turned back towards her with a dark smirk that chilled and enticed her.

“Surprised, little dove? I would bet you to be infinitely curious of the man I was. ‘What could _possibly_ bring a giving, soft and pliant person to embody the essence of divine savagery’…” He paced to her then, leaning down to grab a handful of her hair and yanking her to her feet. “ _Time_ , my dear. Humanity and its inherently selfish and irredeemable nature have caused me to have a change of heart. Yet I’ve turned my healing into a different sort, preferring to purge what I can through Kushiel’s hand rather than further resort to taking into my bones the very evil that can and has broken homes, razed nations, and threatened this world. For you see… I am not an _anguisette_. I was broken and forged anew… but at a price no mortal should pay.”

Dia’s mouth hung open, enraptured by his words and straining against the arousal that was fed by her swelling cheek and how tightly he was holding onto her hair.

“But _you_ , Dia… if you indeed were brought to me as recompense for the untold suffering I’ve endured… then who am I to refuse Kushiel’s gift?”

Forced down on her knees before him, she eyeballed his girthy length and opened her mouth to take him in until she was gagging and struggling for breath, being guided and held by the hand on her head with every pass. Her palms found purchase on his thighs as her lipstick smeared on his pelvis, and she took in his warmth through her touch even as he coldly ravaged her face. This is what Dia had come for. 

_This_ is what she would not shirk, nor be turned away. She memorized the feel of him hitting the back of her throat and cutting off her airway passage, alternating so that she wouldn’t know if now was the time he’d make her dizzy with oxygen deprivation before giving her breath. And Dia loved every moment of uncertainty with him.

Perhaps, it was just Ardyn that she inexplicably loved.

He pulled her mouth from his cock and dragged her upwards, examining in satisfaction the way the once perfect kohl was streaming down her cheeks in streaks of ebony as her ruined lipstick stained her mouth in smudges. Her eyes were dilated and displaying the mote that signified what she was, and Ardyn absolutely desired to devour her in any way possible. After kissing her deeply and tasting himself on her tongue, he flung her face first onto the desk and held her there, bunching the material of her dress in a fist at the middle of her back.

“You’ve done well to endure the touch of Kushiel’s fiery whip, Dia,” the sound of a drawer opening met her ears then. “Now, let’s see how well you do with the rod.”

Dia never saw it, but she felt the bitingly cold touch of what had to be pure bronze on her nether lips that were hastily exposed with a twist of his hands on her makeshift dress to move the material up and aside. Her essence leaked freely as Ardyn slid the blunt object over and around her heat, and she whimpered at the teasing and unexpected sort of temperature play she was subjected to. Every time she thought he was going to lift the weapon and strike her exposed bottom with it, he merely continued circling her clit and watching her squirm in anticipation for as long as he wanted.

Until finally, the metal parted her buttocks and edged past the right rim nestled between them, and Dia jerked in surprise at the intrusion that was far from comfortable. “My lord!”

She could almost feel his smirk. “I remember your _signale_. Don’t be too shy to offer it once more.”

Dia knew it was a test, then. Unlike the first time, Ardyn wasn’t forcing her to say it to save herself. This was entirely her choice, now.

Trying her best to relax her lower half, she let her eyes flutter shut against the dark mahogany of the desk she was well acquainted with. Dia would prove to him that she would take whatever he was willing to give to her.

Inch by inch he slid the brass rod inside her, eased by her slickness yet still encountering resistance that she could not help. Her whimpers became louder as her nails scratched on the wood of the surface she laid upon, baring her teeth and seeing the red of Kushiel’s presence even from behind her eyelids. It _hurt_. It chilled her from the inside. It made her feel _alive._ She idly wondered if she would incur internal damage from what he was doing to her.

Yet, she didn’t care. It was heaven, one that her fellow adepts from Valerian would appreciate yet never fully understand to the level in which she was made for. Dia found herself grinding her clit against the lip of the table in time to Ardyn’s thrusts from behind, moaning openly and taking more of the rod in her ass with each pass.

“Ah, so beautiful,” Ardyn murmured, watching her fall into the reverie that he could only imagine she felt as he sodomized her, his cock growing even harder as he continued. Even as his balls ached with the need to release himself inside of her, he could not get enough of just observing her squirms and pants and the way the glistening rod disappeared between her cheeks. Dia even forgot herself and started calling out his name rather than the scripted title in which she was trained to address her patrons, and he growled in response before extracting the rod and letting it carelessly clatter to the floor. Flipping her over so that he might see her flushed face, he lifted one of her milky legs and seated his weeping member into her.

Dia’s back arched off of the desk surface before she could stop. “Please…”

“Shhh… I know what you want. And I shall give it to you now.”

Everything boiled down him inside of her wet heat, the dull ache the rod had left in her rear, and accompanied the large hand that encircled her throat and squeezed. Dia tried focusing on his face, through the ringing of bronze rings in her ears and Kushiel’s presence cloaking her vision, and let everything blur into just sensation and need. Her breath constricted, she gasped and rolled her eyes in the back of her head, unsure of what sort of sounds she emitted as a result.

For just a moment, Ardyn contemplated enduring the thousand year divine punishment for killing an _anguisette_ , just to say that he had done it. He knew she’d welcome it if he was the executor. But even in his lustful, violent haze, he made himself relinquish the grip on her throat long enough to give her breath and felt her clench around his member in response. When he last felt her with his fingers, it had been many nights in which he tortured himself with visions of how it must feel around his cock. The grip of her now was so blinding that he thought he could see Kushiel through her for a split second, and Ardyn let out a guttural moan in his release deep within her womb.

Blearily turning her sore head to gaze to the mirror in the wall, she smiled at the beginnings of the bruises that were blossoming like roses on her neck, the way Ardyn’s hair curtained his face in the aftermath of his pleasure, and the picturesque quality of the life she could no longer separate from the man softening within her. _I know not what the future holds for a damned man and a budding anguisette, but I shall enjoy every moment of it._

> “Pain redeems all. It is the awareness of life, a reminder of death.”


End file.
